


No Touching

by vorkosigan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Coming Untouched, Dubcon due to fuck or die scenario, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fuck Or Die, Gentle Impact Play, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Play, No penetration, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, light verbal domination, otherwise fully consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vorkosigan/pseuds/vorkosigan
Summary: Inside the closed room, they find a note. Tony reads it and passes it to Steve without a word.Tie him up. Play around with him. You are not allowed to touch him directly.And then, underneath:Only one of you is required to come.(A villain captures Steve and Tony and tries to coerce them into hurting each other, but they decide to go a way gentler route.)





	No Touching

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nagth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagth/gifts).



> Written as a part of the Fandom Stocking 2017 event.

Inside the closed room, they find a note. Tony reads it and passes it to Steve without a word. _Tie him up. Play around with him. You are not allowed to touch him directly._  And then, underneath:  _Only one of you is required to come._

 

The room is sealed, by magic or an alien technology Tony cannot fathom, at least not from the inside. There are no windows, no vents, no secret passages that they can find. If Tony had his suit on, maybe he could, but it malfunctioned earlier and he had to leave it behind. The walls are solid, the door unbreakable. They try repeatedly, but the truth is, they are stranded inside.

 

The space looks mostly clinical, unadorned, at least at first glance; still, when they start opening the cupboards, of which there are many, what they find makes its purpose clearer. In one cupboard there are chains, thick and thicker, some of them barbed; there is an assortment of coarse ropes, thin wires, handcuff and manacles, obviously made very uncomfortable on purpose; shackles and spreader bars and chokers. _Tie him up_ , the note said. Tony shudders.

 

Other cupboards are no better. His face blooming red, Steve is staring at a collection of floggers and crops with what looks like utter fascination. He's clutching at the chest strap of his uniform with one hand. If Tony didn't know better, he'd almost think the blond man was turned on.

 

 _Play around with him_ , the note said, and seeing Steve with that expression on his face makes it hard not to stare. Tony swallows, forces himself to look away. He's been in love with Steve for years, _wanted_ him for years. Of course nothing ever happened, but not thinking about _playing around with him_ is difficult.

 

The dildos on display in the third cupboard wouldn't be so bad, perhaps, if there was a drop of lube to be found anywhere. There isn't. Together with the fact that there is not one vibrator in the room, no wand massagers, nothing meant to simply give pleasure – just pain – only one conclusion is possible: this is not someone's fun room. This is a torture chamber.

 

Tony approaches Steve, clears his throat. Startled out of his reverie, Steve almost jumps. He looks at Tony, then, blushing an even fiercer red, looks away quickly. _He's gorgeous,_ Tony thinks guiltily.

 

The question is unspoken but clear: What do we do?

 

"I take it the door will open only after we do what the note says." Steve is trying to sound calm, but his voice is hoarse. He doesn't seem particularly upset by the notion, though.

 

"Well, then," Tony says lightly, "I suppose we get ready to die here, eh?" Because, as much as he might want Steve, he doesn't want a reluctant Steve, he doesn't want a coerced Steve. He'll think of another way out. There must be something.

 

Steve frowns. "You know, sometimes I can't even tell if you're joking." And then, before Tony can reply: "Would it be so terrible, though? Having... having some kind of sex with me?"

 

Tony laughs out; the sound is high-pitched and tense. "Terrible? No, Steve, it wouldn't be _terrible_." It would be all kinds of _wonderful_ , even here, even under these circumstances, if only he thought Steve actually wanted him. He meets Steve's eyes, and what he sees there catches him by surprise. Steve's pupils are shiny, dilated. His breathing faster. His gaze keeps flicking down towards Tony's body. "You kind of like the idea, don't you?" Tony thinks, and is surprised at the sound of his own voice actually saying the words. He wants to backtrack, backpedal, but Steve swallows visibly and nods.

 

"I'd... not be opposed to the idea of having sex with you." Steve manages to sound strangely formal, even though his voice has gone even more gravelly. "But only if you wanted it," he adds quickly. "Only if you would have wanted it _anyway_. Without..." Steve nods at the room at large.

 

"I _did_ think about it," Tony says. "A bit." He nudges himself towards honestly. "A _lot_ ," he admits. _Only all the fucking time._

 

"Yeah?"

 

It's Tony's turn to swallow. The words are hard to get out. "I do want you," he says, and it's only half of the truth, but all of it would be too overwhelming. "Pretty badly, actually," he admits.

 

Steve brightens. Tony never imagined it would go quite _this_ easily. "Then we're good," Steve murmurs and reaches out to touch his face.

 

 _You're not allowed to touch him_ _directly_.

"No, don't."

 

Steve freezes mid-motion. Then he remembers. "Oh."

 

"Yeah," Tony says. "We can't."

 

Steve extends a finger and traces a line in the air half an inch away from Tony's cheek. "So. Apparently, the conditions require bondage, right? I, ah..." Steve hesitates. "Would you like to tie me up­?," he asks softly, then.

 

Tony has trouble breathing. He'd thought, _dreamed_ of hearing Steve say those words, and they churn in his groin, and he _wants_. But he'd always envisioned velvety handcuffs and soft ropes. Not... all this.

 

"We could do it the other way around," Tony offers, because he'd rather be on the receiving end than use any of these implements here on Steve.

 

Steve hesitates, bites his lower lip for a second. The sight is doing evil things to Tony's insides. "I'd..." the blond begins, stops.

 

"If we are going to do this, we are going to have to actually talk about it," Tony says with more confidence than he feels, and Steve nods.

 

With, it seems, a new determination, he takes a deep breath. "I would like to be the one tied up. That's what's, ah, interesting to me." His eyes wander towards the floggers for a moment, and it's all Tony can do  not to push him against the wall and just take him there and then, rules be damned.

 

"Well, then," Tony says with forced calm. "In that case, that's what we'll do."

 

They negotiate for a few minutes. Steve picks a safeword. It turns out he has never had sex of a non-vanilla variant, but he's been interested in BDSM for some time, reading, watching. _Thinking._ Tony keeps imagining how he would make him moan and fall apart if only he had the toys he actually liked - if the rules weren't designed specifically to make them hurt each other.

 

"I'm going to make it good for you," Tony promises, and realizes he somehow isn't worried about life and death situation so much as about pleasing Steve under the circumstances. "But you have to tell me what you want, as we go" he says. "You have to tell me what you _don't_ want."

 

Steve lets his eyes roam about the cupboards for a moment.

 

"I can take a lot, I know that much," he says in a very low voice. "Go slowly at first, I guess. But I'm interested in everything."

 

***

 

These ropes would be a bit uncomfortable for Steve, perhaps, but not really bad; ditto for the handcuffs. The most of the bondage gear available wouldn't damage him. Tony stares at the collection. _It's not about that_ , he thinks. It's about playing or not playing the villain's game; or doing it only to the bare minimum. Gaming the system, cutting the wire instead of lying on top of it or stepping on someone who did. _Only one of you is required to come._

 

He will not be coerced into hurting Steve, even though Steve is fine with it. Or more than fine. There'll be time enough for that after they get out of here, if Steve still wants it then.

 

Humming softly, Tony picks up a dressage whip with a handle wrapped in silk ribbon, cuts the wide ribbon near the base and starts unwrapping it from the handle. He leaves the whip where it was, but he stuffs the ribbon into his pocket.

 

"Will you undress for me?" he asks Steve when he's done, and Steve swallows, nods, starts taking off his uniform. Tony watches him peel it off his body with quick, practical motions. Tony would tease every inch of that body with his lips and teeth and hands, and the fact that he mustn't touch is a sort of torture on its own.

 

Steve is still blushy but determined.

 

"Slower," Tony tells him, and he doesn't even mean it as an order, exactly, but Steve's eyes snap to his own, his breath hitches, and Tony can see him get hard under his tight uniform. _Oh god, he really likes this._

 

"Don't touch yourself," Tony tells him next, a bit sharper this time. Experimenting. He's not sure what the rules of the room entail exactly. If Steve did touch himself, would he results count?It sounds to easy.  _It sounds like a trap_ , he thinks. It's better not to risk it. On the plus side, Steve evidently likes this order even better.

 

As he slowly pulls his pants down, he's already fully erect, pulsing and beautiful and itching for a touch. Tony would swallow him whole, excruciatingly slow, if only he could.

 

"No," Tony says when Steve starts to pull his left pant leg down. "The right one first." The command is nonsensical, but since Steve likes being told what to do so much, even the nonsensical ones will help get him in the good state of mind.

 

Tony takes the ribbon from his pocket, then, and ties his hands. Steve glances at the piece of silk in amusement. "You don't have to be _that_ careful," the blond tells him, arching his eyebrows, but he obediently raises the arms above his head. Tony passes the ribbon through a hoop hanging from the ceiling and ties it off. _But I want to be careful_ , he wants to tell Steve. _I like being careful with you._

 

"Be silent," Tony tells him sharply instead, "when I want your opinion, I'll ask." Because it's all about the game, the performance, the attitude, and the other man is responding so nicely to verbal domination play. Steve inhales sharply and bites his lower lip. Gives Tony an incredibly hot look. His eyes are big, blown wide; impossibly pretty. (Tony would kiss both his eyelids. If he were allowed to.)

 

Tony picks the smallest, gentlest flogger available, buried deep in the back of one cupboard.

 

"Let's get started."

 

***

 

The very fact that he is naked and Tony isn't sends a tiny, pleasant thrill through Steve. This is what he dreamed of. A competent, sharp-spoken, no-nonsense Tony playing around with Steve's body. He'd never thought he'd get here, never thought Tony would be interested at all. But here he is, flogger in hand, running the pommel of the handle up and down Steve's torso, teasing, exploring, inspecting. He trails it softly down Steve's spine, pausing and circling lightly at the very top of the crack of Steve's ass, just enough to stir up the sensation. As soon as Steve gasps, he moves on. He runs it up his ribs, circles both his nipples. That feels amazing and Steve immediately wants more, but Tony just smirks at him and moves on once again. He's waking Steve's body up with light touches but purposefully leaving him aching for more.

 

He  strokes the pommel down Steve's left cheek with a bit more pressure, then prods at his lips. "Open," he orders, and Steve feels the electric word shoot straight to him. He obeys and Tony gently pushes the pommel into his mouth, lets it rest on Steve's tongue for a moment. "What are you waiting for?", Tony says. "Suck."

 

It's heavy and cold and metallic. Steve sucks.

 

"Harder."

 

Steve obeys, shuddering, blushing, and Tony starts pumping it lightly. Just an inch in, just an inch out. It's not even especially uncomfortable, except perhaps for the woven leather of the handle dragging across Steve's lips with a bit of roughness. But the fact that Tony is fucking his mouth with a handle of a flogger makes his cheeks redden, his cock twitch. The sudden coldness on the tip of his cock means precum is trickling out, and his insides contract with a mixture of shame and pleasure at the thought of how incredibly turned on he is by this.

 

Tony seems to be reading his mind. "I wish you could see yourself right now," he murmurs at Steve. "If we had a mirror, I'd make you look at yourself."

 

Steve can't see, but he can imagine. Hands tied above his head, legs spread wide, sucking on the implement. Cock straining and leaking. His cheeks heat up even more.

 

And then Tony goes on playing with his body. He pulls the handle out and shows Steve how wet and glistening it is. He lifts Steve's cock with it, bending to take a good look. Prods at his balls gently. Pulls them up. And then the handle finds its way to his perineum, twisting, massaging lightly. It isn't a sharp, shooting thrill, more like a slow buildup of pleasure, caresses awakening his nerve endings, but as soon as Steve starts rocking into it, the massage stops.

 

"Stand still," Tony tells him, and then he is behind him, prying his asscheeks open with the handle, dragging the pommel through his asscrack, down, all the way to the perineum, with a bit more pressure than before, then back up. It stops at his entrance, circling, pressing, lightly. And then Tony twists it sharply, and Steve draws in a convulsive breath.

 

He _knows_ Tony isn't going to try to push it in, but for a moment he lets himself fantasize about it. It wouldn't feel good, in reality, but the image is hot as hell.

 

"Please." He realizes it's his own whisper. He's rocking back.

 

"No," says Tony firmly and pulls away.

 

Then there is a light snap at his left shoulderblade. It's practically a caress of the flogger tails. It tingles. Then another one, and another one. The tresses tease at his back for a time, and then there is just enough sting on Steve's right shoulder to brighten his skin, but it's not hard enough to register as pain.

 

The taps get a little harder, gradually, but it happens so slowly that it's almost excruciating. Steve can feel the warmth spreading across his back, enveloping him, making his heart pump faster. But then it's over.

 

Steve's ass is next, the process the same. Gently at first, than a tad more firmly, hotly. Over too soon, though, while he still wants more, can take a _lot_ more.

 

Steve's cock is rock hard; he needs to rub it against something, needs some friction. He knows he is whispering soft pleas, but what he gets in return is light teasing of the flogger tresses on his shaft, crawling along it's length. He tries to fuck into the feeling, and it does absolutely nothing. He wants to growl with frustration.

 

"Please, Tony, _please_ ," he keeps whispering, wanting, needing to feel the whisk and sting of the tails against his sensitive flash, right there.

 

"No," Tony cuts him off again. He lets Steve rub his head against the handle for a few moments, then it's away from his reach once again.

 

It seems they are back to playing with the handle, because the pommel is cold against Steve's left nipple, pressing into it, circling until it perks up, alert and sensitive. And then the coarse woven leather of the handle itself is being dragged over it, now across the areola, now against the nub itself, snagging. Softly, then harder, then softly again, until his nipple feels hot, a little sore, and it's still not enough. He wants _hotter_ , needs _sorer._

 

"I'm going to hurt your nipples a little bit, now," Tony says. He sounds hoarse. "Which one do we do first, the left one or the right one? This," he adds, trying for dryness, but his voice has gone too breathy for that, "is me, asking for your opinion."

 

Steve's right nipple is soft and practically untouched. It feels somehow lonely. Hungry for contact. His left one, on the other hand, is still throbbing, still full of blood; it's achy, but it burns for _more_.

 

"Left," Steve whispers, because he doesn't trust his voice right now.

 

"Steve, oh my god," Tony breaths. And then, in a firmer voice. "All right. But look down. I want you to watch."

 

The flesh is tender from the rubbing, responsive, but seeing the tresses fall and connect adds another dose of piquant excitement. The first strikes are so gentle they are barely there. Still, the buildup, the quivering anticipation and the rush of blood make him feel it more and more with every rhythmic tap. And then Toy snaps his wrist in a different way, and it's just the very tips of the flogger that connect with the skin. It feels like ten thousand bites, and the sting is so hot and intense he sucks in air sharply through his teeth.

 

Another stinger like that, and Steve almost comes on the spot. "Harder," he whispers, " _please_."

 

"No," Tony says coldly. Despite his tone, a part of Steve is _aware_ how careful Tony is with him, how gentle - mindful not to go too far - and it makes Steve's heart flutter warmly. But at the same time, he lets himself indulge in fantasies about how Tony is denying him pleasure on purpose, just because he can, just because he wants to, and _this_ is what makes Steve's cock dance and weep.

 

Tony presses the cold, metal pommel onto his hot nipple. The contrast itself is too sharp for it to be soothing at first; it's as if the sensation jolts straight to Steve's cock. Still, he doesn't come, he can't, he needs more. He bites his lip in frustration.

 

"Hell, Steve," Tony murmurs in awe. "Your breast is rose-red."

 

And then Tony is behind him. Several flicks of the flogger at his ass rekindle all the minty warmth from before. The hot tendrils of sensation are humming through him, aiming straight for his hole, hiss cock. Then pommel in the cleft of his ass jerks him from the dreamy state.

 

And then the rough leather of the handle is being dragged across the sensitive rim of his entrance, catching, snagging, chafing. Not hard, but not quite gently either. The sensation isn't pleasant. And yet, Steve _likes_ it not pleasant, and by now he's so desperate to feel anything at all right there that he cold weep. It goes on until his skin is burning, until Steve starts moaning in earnest, and then Tony is back at playing with his nipples, now working on his neglected right one. Taps and caresses of the tails. The warmth building, accumulating. He wakes his nerves up incredibly slowly, incredibly patiently; softness, softness, and then, all of a sudden, a sharp sting on the slightly sore left breast makes Steve jerk. Tony is smirking at him.

 

Steve shivers violently. A wave of pleasure rushes to his cock, on the verge of enveloping him whole, but it subsides before it gets there. He throws his head back in frustration.

 

"Tony, I almost..." he croaks.

 

"Why should I care," Tony says. Still, his voice has gone so hoarse that he's not very convincing at all.

 

He goes back to caressing and lightly tapping Steve's right breast with the tresses, and then, just when Steve had stopped expecting it, he flicks the flogger at his left nipple again, sharply. Once again, the excitement rushes into Steve's cock, like a wave that can't quite reach the shore, and falls short, and Steve growls. So unfulfilled. He's on the verge of tearing the silk ribbon apart, grabbing his cock and giving it a stroke that it needs, two at most. He'd be done. He just need a slightest touch, anything to tip him over the edge.

 

He's only half aware that he's pleading. "...please, Tony, my cock, I'm almost...there, hit me there, give me, I need to feel something, please, please..."

 

"All right," Tony whispers.

 

It's the lightest of flicks, aimed at his head, although a few tresses go astray. A sharp sensation that isn't exactly pleasure and isn't exactly pain rushes from Steve's contracting balls into the tip of his cock, and he closes his eyes and cries out.

 

"No. _Watch_ ," Tony commands him, and Steve opens his eyes forcibly. Watches the tails caress his cock for a moment, making it twitch, strive to feel more than the tickling of leather. Then Tony raises the flogger again.

 

"Oh god, I can't," Tony grunts, and then his other hand is opening his own zipper. He fumbles, pulls himself out frantically. Steve's gaze is plastered to his cock, red and swollen. Tony grips it, strokes himself roughly, once, twice, fighting for breath.

 

"On me, do it on me," Steve pleads desperately.

 

"Steve, come for me," Tony says, and flicks his wrist again.

 

Tony's come and the leather tails hit him at the same time. Exhilaration and pain wash over his groin, swipe him away, and then he's coming himself, gasping, yelling. And yet, that feeling of almost-there-but-not-quite is still present. He _is_ coming, but it's somehow underwhelming, somehow all the previous sensations have been more intense than this, although it _is_ pleasurable.

 

Unexpectedly, something is pressed into his perineum, firmly, almost too hard. Steve recognizes the pommel, twisting, turning; digging in at the very edge of actual pain, at the very edge of too much. But then it's like a whole new orgasm rushes to the surface in the middle of his old one, and it floods all his senses and his body is shaking violently, and his prostate sings.

 

He's barely aware he's torn the silk ribbon apart and fallen to the floor on all fours.

 

***

Tony gasps for breath, still gripping his own cock in his left hand, still milking it for sensation. The flogger falls from his fingers, but he's hardly aware of it.

 

He wants to wrap his arms around Steve, to help him up, whisper all sorts of soft nonsense into his ear. He wants to touch him, pet him, kiss him everywhere. Tell him how wonderful he's been, tell him how much he loves him.

 

The click of the door unlocking makes him return to reality. In seconds he is throwing the door open, and Steve is grabbing his uniform and pulling it on while running out, before any new, weird developments can take place.

 

Once they are a bit further down the corridor, they pause. Steve is in front of him. His hair is sweaty, the shape of his shoulders so close and familiar. Tony knows Steve's cheeks are probably still burning, his eyes still bright, and yet, once dressed, he suddenly seems unapproachable again. Which is – well, its ridiculous, probably.

 

Tony swallows, reaches out tentatively. Touches Steve on the shoulder, pets him gently down the arm. "Hey, big guy."

 

And then Steve is turning around, pulling Tony in, and Tony is running his hands all over his chest and shoulders and back, wanting to touch everywhere, feeling as if he's been robbed of something and now he desperately wants  to compensate.

 

"Are you all right? Are you okay?" he asks, but Steve answers with a kiss, hot and sloppy. "I wanted that," Tony whispers into Steve's mouth. "I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to touch you. So _much_ , Steve. I wanted..."

 

"Next time," Steve says. "Okay?"

 

Tony grins. "Yeah. Next time."

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You won't forget the man who's making you shake (the Next Time remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13789818) by [Robin_tCJ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_tCJ/pseuds/Robin_tCJ)




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